


The Clockwork Princess (Hands of Fate Series: Book 1)

by englishrose (Authorqueen)



Category: Hands of Fate series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authorqueen/pseuds/englishrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All of this mess, every aspect of imperfection, self-depreciation and immorality, began with one small spider..."</p>
<p>In a world where the goal is 'Happily Ever After', and Fate is the one pulling all the strings, meet Nico - an agent of Fate that lives purely to make sure everyone else gets their happy ending. He's never questioned his role before, but upon meeting his latest project - a stable boy with dreams of seeing the world - the whole philosophy Nico has worked with has come to question:</p>
<p>Should we really trust the hands of Fate? Or can you write your own destiny?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I only intend to post the first two chapters of this book online. Please write a comment or click the kudos button to show any support. Hopefully, with enough feedback, this series can be a published reality!  
> Thank you all.

 

**_PROLOGUE_ **

All of this mess, every aspect of imperfection, self-depreciation and immorality, began with one small spider.

When the Gods of old built this world, they were happy with what they saw, but were also exhausted by their efforts. Nevertheless, the old Gods knew that each of their new made creatures needed a path to follow, and this path would be woven with spun time and dreams.

These woven threads became the strings of destiny, and the Gods worked continually to create perfectly crafted lives for their perfectly crafted creations. And they worked, and worked, and worked until their beings ached and their fingers grew numb. Desperate, they looked to their creations, seeking the best weaver they could find, who could take their place in weaving the strings for a while as the gods rested.

A humble spider came to the Gods, and offered her services to them. She asked no reward; this was as a thanks for her own creation. So the gods blessed her, and left her to her weaving. But the spider was cunning. She did not love her Gods, in fact she hated them. Why give her the ability to weave such beautiful things when she herself was so hideous. Why should the other creatures live such happy lives when she herself was loathed by all, her children hated and trodden underfoot? Under the spider’s nimble weaving, the world grew to know pain. The oasis the old Gods created grew corrupt, filled with jealousy and greed.

When the Gods heard of what had happened, they flew to the spider to demand why she had done this. The spider merely smiled when she saw them, and with one swift movement, she sliced the Gods’ destinies, their strings cut short to the point of non-existence.

The strongest of the Gods vowed that she would not prevail, that their creations, the very ones that loathed her so, would end the spider’s tyranny. She laughed – the God’s creations were her playthings. They held no threat to her.  
The last of the Gods said only this: “That may be so. Then hear this – you will be ended by the child that is not a child. A creation of thought and mind. This child will be no creation of ours. This child shall be your end.” With those words, the God faded to dust, their destiny ended.  
  
There was only one God now. One God that spun the strings of destiny to her whim. One God that chose every path of mankind. She was cruel and vitriolic, and bitter to a fault. And her name was Fate.  
  
Fate soon grew bored, however. Humanity was growing, and whilst she revelled in its agony, the individual lives of man became tedious to her. So, Fate set about making her own servants, the hands of fate themselves.  
Only Fate was no god, she could not make anything but the tapestry she weaved. She could only corrupt. And corrupt she did; every man or woman whose destiny was left unfulfilled, who never knew true happiness, were brought to Fate herself in death. She offered them the chance to help her, to not allow others to suffer the same fate as them. They did not know it was Fate herself that had failed them. They were good people that wanted to help. So they accepted their new roles as Fate’s servants. In time they were known as the Hands of Fate.  
  
Time passes, and not all have happy endings. Fate still held mankind in a web of power and lies. No one questioned it. No one until now.

  
  
**Aporan Forest – Year of The 17th Iris (212 years ago)**

_The cottage smelled like home – the dried herbs and flowers hanging from his step-mothers kitchen ceiling were a familiar scent to him now – but these scents were fresh and floral, not dusty and tainted._  
He was tired from walking. The cottage was a welcome sight. With a smile, he started forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned, frowning at his sister, who was staring hard at the cottage, as if waiting for a scream to erupt from it.  
  
“ _Quello che è preoccupante ora?” he asked her, raising his eyebrow. The worry was evident on her face._

_Her head snapped to look him dead in the eye. “Nostro padre ci ha lasciato qui a morire, perché la nostra matrigna gli ha detto di. Pensi davvero che la nostra fortuna è cambiato? Penso che sia una trappola.”_

_  
He snorted. His sister was being ridiculous. Yes, their father had left them out here, in the middle of the woods. But it was to fend for themselves, not to die - like his sister believed. It had been their stepmother’s idea though… the woman had seemed kindly enough at first, but when it came down to it she was downright hateful to her husband’s children. Leaving that home was probably safer than staying, even if they had no-where to go. But she was saying this cottage was a trap. That their luck could not have changed so easily. He shook his head, annoyed with his sister’s paranoia, and told her so._

_“Stai per essere un idiota. La notte è fredda, e se non troviamo rifugio che morirà a prescindere.” She studied him for a while, before nodding, if a little hesitantly. But he was not wrong; the night had grown cold as they walked, and their breath now misted in the air. So what if the cottage was a trap? If they stayed out in the cold they would likely die anyway._

_As they got closer, the house seemed to grow warmer and more inviting. The scents of rosemary and lavender, mixed with honeysuckle and roses, became stronger and headier in the wind._

_As they approached the door, shingle crunching beneath their feet, his sister turned to look at him one last time. “Sei sicuro di questo?” He nodded. Yes, he was sure of this. After all, what more could they lose?_

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER I 

**Ahjaera City – Khartur**

_Year of the 19th Gardenia (Present Day)_

 

Suffice to say, things weren't quite going to Nico's plan.

Like a small, teenage bat out of hell, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, tripping through the dusty streets and muttering furiously under his breath as he heard the shouts of the guards behind him. “I told her not to eat the apple and what does she do? She eats the apple. And now everyone thinks I’m the crazy git that fed her the damn thing in the first pla- Damn it!”

He ducked behind an urn as a troop of guards turned the corner and started up the alley toward him. Nico gasped for breath, desperately trying to get a grip of his powers so that he could shadow shift the hell out of Ahjaera and get back to Hallow Garden. But no matter how he tried, the shadows seemed to slip from his fingers, leaving him a defenceless mess stuck behind oversized pottery. Fate was being real pain today.

Taking a deep breath, he hurled himself back onto the open streets, headed at full speed to the city gates, a great dust cloud pluming out in his wake. A shout went up behind him, but Nico couldn’t spare the time or energy to look. Big mistake. Seconds later, Nico grunted as a sharp pain pierced first his right leg, then his left shoulder. The pain bloomed, and he staggered a little before starting to run again.

The city gates were closing in front of him, and his injured leg had him at a quick hobble instead of a fast sprint. Nico swore. This was going to be interesting. How would they react? Because obviously trying to murder the princess - even if he’d been trying to do the opposite - was a crime punishable by death. And, well, Nico had already said his hellos and goodbyes to the pearly gates years ago. What happened when an prisoner won’t die? he’ll get tortured, called a witch... Unless he got to the city gates in time, which was proving harder and harder as he limped his way through the market square.

Just because he’s dead, doesn’t mean arrows don’t really hurt.

Nico spurred himself forward. No way was he going to become someone’s eternal punching bag, because he already had one person using him as a personal whipping boy, and one was plenty enough. Fuelled by anger, Nico fought his way through the crowds of Ahjaera, reaching for the gates...

SLAM.

Damn. Nico twisted, looking for a new escape route. His shoulder and leg flared in protest, but at this point Nico was too high on adrenalin to care. There. The sandstone walls. Nico had seen the subtle indents built into the city walls – an escape route should there ever be a siege. Well, it was an out. And so what if Nico wasn’t all that fond of heights and climbing? Better that than an eternal game of “Why-won’t-you-die?”

He turned to find some way onto the walls, but was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder – thankfully the unwounded one – and spun on his heel to face what could have easily been a troll. Or an ogre. Or maybe the offspring of the two combined. Would that make him a trogre? What a disturbing thought.

Nico didn’t even blink. He did the only thing he could have done in that moment. He was unarmed, wounded, and his powers had abandoned him. So, with one swift decisive movement, he yanked the arrow from his right shin and jabbed it into the guard’s eye. He wasn’t allowed to kill – that would be meddling with destiny. Now maiming and disfigurement? Fair game. And Nico’s defence, the trogre touched him first.

The guard wailed furiously, attracting the attention of all his fellow trogre comrades. Not what Nico needed. He kicked the man’s shin, just for good measure, before running/hobbling to one of the market stalls. He didn’t even spare the tender a sideways glance, but hoisted himself onto the wares bench, then grabbed the slippery tent material above him and started shimmying to the roof. He felt bad about the blood – that was probably going to stain. He ducked as a new barrage of arrows flew at him.

At this point the townsfolk had started pointing and gasping, or running around like headless chickens. Nico tried not to roll his eyes. “Over here!” His head snapped up, where above him another guard was jabbing a spear at him from the barrack. Two more were headed to help. Nico groaned. “Give me a break.” He grabbed the end of the spear and yanked, pulling the weapon out of the unsuspecting guard’s hands. He stabbed it into the canvas beneath his feet and heaved, using it as leverage to hoist himself onto the barrack. Pulling the spear free, he turned to face the three guards glaring down at him.“Three against one, boys? That’s hardly fair.”

The guard snarled. “You are a demon!”

Nico feigned a look of hurt. “That was uncalled for.”

With that he made a feinting jab at the guard’s left. All three jumped to the right, as if to avoid the blow. Too late they realised their mistake. With a smile, Nico threw the spear at them and gave a mocking salute. “Give my regards to Queen Lamia.” And then he fell.

Now, falling backwards off the barracks of a well-protected city was not one of Nico’s favourite pastimes. Neither was gambling, to be honest. So ye Gods knew how Nico kept such a calm face whilst doing both. Odds were he would hit the ground and possibly break a few ribs – something he knew from experience was not fun – but, if Fate could find it within herself to do him a favour just this one time…

Flailing, Nico twisted in the air to face the ground beneath him. Better his ribs take the impact, his spine would take days to recover. As he fell, he gasped as shadows began to pool on the ground beneath him. He could hear the furious yells of the guards above him, but that didn’t matter anymore.

He smiled as he closed his eyes, the ground rushing up to meet him. Only there was no impact. The shadows swallowed him whole, circling him, embracing him. The yells turned to silence. Nico was free.

 

**Location Unknown**   
  


The first thing Nico noticed was how scratchy his bed was.The second thing was that he had a bed in the first place.

He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open, only to wince in the light that flooded his senses. “Gah. Turn the sun off, will you?”

Someone chuckled. Nico froze. That was supposed to be rhetorical. But there was someone here with him, wherever ‘here’ was… where was he? His eyes slowly adjusted, and he frowned. The ‘bed’ he was on was nothing more than a mattress stuffed with straw. Straw littered the stone floor too, scattered about in little heaps. The air was musty, and there was a definite animal-musk in the air that was quite familiar.

_Horses_. Nico’s brain supplied. _You are in a stable_. A stable, huh? He scanned the room slowly. Despite his first reaction, the light was actually quite dim. Leather tack hung from hooks on one wall, and to the left was a wooden bucket full of brushes. And there was a hoof-pick as well.

A sudden crunching noise had Nico spinning 180 degrees where he sat, only to be met by the sight of a young man petting the nose of a tall, black horse - who was obviously enjoying the apple that was mostly now foam around its muzzle. The boy pressed a finger to his lips, smiling. “You spooked her.” He whispered, patting the horse’s neck.

Nico snorted. “I spooked her?” The boy rolled his eyes, stepping out of the horse’s stall and into the flickering candlelight. He approached slowly, as if Nico was a spooked horse himself.

“I imagine you’ve had a rough time, I found you passed out in the paddock.” The boy wrinkled his nose. “There are better places to nap, you know?”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Slowly, he came to Nico’s side and sat at the foot of the mattress, a frown beginning at the corner of his lips.

“Are you okay? You have been asleep for the best part of two days…” Two days?! Alarm bells started ringing in Nico’s ears. He hadn’t been in touch with Hallow Garden for two days. He needed to get there, quick. It was only a matter of time before Isabella sent out the search parties.

“I have to go.” He mumbled, trying to free himself from the itchy blanket he was wrapped in, only to be hit by the biggest wave of vertigo he’d ever had. Oh. Nico promptly slumped back onto the mattress, only just realising that the boy had moved to steady him. Awkward.

“Shoot.” He mumbled, closing his eyes.

The boy’s frown deepened. “You aren’t going anywhere in that state.”

Nico flicked open one eye to look at the boy beadily. “I have to. I have friends wondering where I am.”

The boy shrugged. “It can wait until morning, at least. It is pitch black out there, what happens if you lose your footing?”

It was Nico’s turn to frown. Lose his footing? “Where exactly am I?”

“A barn.” Wow. Nico hadn’t realised that. Thank you for that information.

“I meant in a broader sense.” Nico hissed, letting his eyes slip closed again. The boy shifted his weight a little. Nico opened his eyes again, raising an eyebrow at the boy’s blatant discomfort.

The boy sighed, resigned. “You’re at Mareview Estate.” He sighed. Nico said nothing, just continued to watch him speculatively. The boy was watching Nico too, but he face slowly went from resigned to puzzled. “You…don’t know where that is?”

“Should I?”

The boy gaped a bit before shaking himself out of it with a little laugh. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?” 

Nico glowered. “Sorry, I didn’t know your employers were so prestigious.” The boy faltered, freezing where he sat. His eyes lowered to his lap, and he mumbled something. Nico pursed his lips. “Sorry, what?”

“They aren’t my employers.”

Nico blinked. Once. Twice. “Then who are they?”

“…My family.”

The stranger’s confession hung heavy in the air. Nico paused, taking in the barn and the boy with new eyes. The barn was cold and draughty, with hay and piles of manure scattered about. There were a few signs of human life, like a small bucket and wash cloth hung up with the horse leathers. The mattress and blanket still chafed against Nico’s skin.

The boy himself was tall and ropey, lithe with a good body hard earned through manual labour. He had messy, dark hair and bright eyes, but whilst Nico was sure a fire burnt there once, it had now diminished to embers. This boy was as handsome as he was broken.

“Your family?” Nico repeated. The boy nodded solemnly. Nico could see the signs. Beaten down protagonist? Check. Dismal life? Check. Caring nature despite all this? Double check. Who picked up random strangers from paddocks and gives up their beds for them for three days straight anyway? And then there was the fact that Nico was here. The shadows had not been of his making, which meant Fate herself had intervened. And then dumped him here in…the Mareview Estate? Nico still wasn’t sure where that was. Nico took a deep, long-suffering breath. Usually he got a break between projects. Then he snorted. Three days comatose would constitute as a break to someone as stingy as Fate.

“What’s your name?” Nico asked quietly. In his peripheral vision, he could see the boy stiffen again. Then his body curled in upon itself.

“James Pierce.” Nico frowned. “I know that name. Pierce…” The name rolled off his tongue. Nico thought hard for a moment, before starting. “Oh! Edberge Pierce! He was the merchant that was helping stock the rebels during the Ruznek revolution.”

James nodded slowly. “He died in jail because of it.”

Nico sagged. “Oh…didn’t he have a daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And her name was-”

“Elizabeth. She died too.” The answer was short, with no real inflection, but Nico could feel the tension flooding the room as James spoke. The boy’s shoulders were taut with pain. That kind of pain, in Nico’s mind, was unmistakable.

“You live with your father then?”

“He’s dead too.”

“Who was he?” Nico asked softly.

A small smile graced James’ lips. “A good man. He was the Bargeman of the Atensea port.”

“Adrien Varen?” James nodded silently. Nico pursed his lips. “So…” Nico said slowly “We’re in Atensia.” James nodded again.

Nico watched him as the stable-hand took a deep breath, before plastering a smile upon his face. “Hence I couldn’t let you leave just yet. Bit of a steep fall, you know?”

Indeed, a bit of a steep fall. Atensia was a notoriously beautiful kingdom that perched on the cliffs that towered above the Atensea. The entire kingdom was scattered about the jagged cliff face, with tiny pathways and carved crevices as its people’s means of getting about. The entire place was a peaceful hub of trade, mass imports and exports coming in and leaving from the harbour that you could access by following the rickety wooden stairway that had been jammed into the cliff-face. Nico knew this, for he had been there once before, many years ago.

James got up to his feet, and smiled down at Nico. The smile was a little fixed, and there was panic settling in the boy’s eyes. Nico knew why. Part of his powers as a Hand was to pull people’s dark, sad stories from their lips, whether they liked it or not. “I’ll leave you alone. I wouldn’t try leaving until morning though. It’s a long fall.” He said quietly, before turning toward the black horse and – literally – hitting the hay.

Nico stared at him for a moment. James had good reason to panic, Nico supposed. How many others knew Adrien Varen had an illegitimate child? Because that’s what James was, undoubtedly. Why else would he go by only his mother’s name? Still watching the figure now curled up in the straw, Nico called out “I give you my word; I won’t tell anyone.” There was a long, pregnant pause, before James huffed out a small, disbelieving chuckle, back still turned to Nico.

“We’ll see.” Came the reply.

-:-

 

Nico woke to the sound of rattling metal, sun pouring in through his eyelashes, and a swift jab to his right side.

“Wake up!”

Nico grunted and rolled over, squinting up at his human alarm clock. In the morning light, it was much easier to see James, along with the worry etched into his face. Nico sat up, frowning. He watched as James bustled about, grabbing bits of tack and flinging them onto the stall’s wooden bollard before setting off for another piece, furiously scrubbing at pieces of leather with an oiled cloth.

“What’s the matter?”

James spared him a quick, wary look before replying. “My brother is coming to inspect the stables before his morning ride.” He pulled out various other buckled straps and bits of leather and flung them onto the waiting pommel, then turned to face Nico entirely. “I’m really sorry, but you have to go.”

Nico stared at him, then snorted. “First you force me to stay, now you’re kicking me out? Make up your mind.”

James rubbed his arm, looking sheepish. “It’s not my fault. I don’t want to throw you out like this, but the last time my brother caught a trespasser…” the unsaid threat loomed in the air as James trailed off, a pained look in his eyes. Obviously, this wasn’t the first time James had taken in a weary stranger. Nico felt his heart go out to the boy. He slowly pulled himself out of the makeshift bed, finding himself in only his shirt and breeches. Frowning, he set about searching the stable and finally found his boots by a wooden bucket, and his cloak hung up by the tack. As he pulled on his boots, he heard James behind him, scrubbing down the leather straps of the horse's saddle.

"I am really sorry..." the stable-boy mumbled again. Nico shrugged on his cloak, then faced the boy, who looked utterly miserable.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have stayed so long, it was rude."

James frowned. "You were unconscious, you couldn't have left even if you wanted to."

Nico shrugged again. "I have friends waiting for me anyway." He turned at started for the door, saying over his shoulder "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Wait!"

Nico stopped and turned his head, raising a quizzical brow. James stood with a brush in one hand and polish in another, with a face like a kicked puppy. "Will you be back?"

Nico considered this. He'd been brought to Atensia for a reason. Most likely Fate dumped him in that particular paddock for a reason. He sighed, resigned. "Undoubtedly."

He didn't bother looking back, so he didn't see the wide smile spread across James' face. Instead, he pushed open the door and stepped into the early morning light. The door closed behind him, and he started down the narrow, winding path that seemed carved from the very cliff itself.

The sun had barely risen, giving the world a pinkish hue in the red morning light. Nico glowered up at the scarlet streaks that criss-crossed the sky. "Red sky at dawn, and the lambherd shall mourn." he muttered. That was all he needed - rain. His mood hadn't been particularly great to begin with. It bothered him that he'd been plucked from one continent and being dropped in another without preamble. Regardless of what she may think, Fate was not funny.

Still muttering to himself, Nico stomped his way down the heather strewn pathway - and stopped dead. He'd crested the hill, and now Atensia lay before him in all its glory. He'd forgotten how uniquely beautiful it was. The little kingdom almost hung precariously from the cliffs it was built on, fisherman cottages hewn from the cliff face itself with the rickety stairways making ways to the slither of beach below. Atop the heathery cliffs, a sheer castle rose up, its spires reaching for the sky like pearly fingertips, and at its base stood a cluster of shops and stalls crammed into narrow winding streets, where the famed imports of Atensia would first meet the public eye.

Nico cast his eyes westward, out to sea. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the island country of Bravic, and then beyond that still was Nico's destination. A place beyond most men's reach; Hallow Garden. He took in a deep breath, taking one last savoury glance at Atensia, then back down the path he'd just walked. The stable door was still just askew. He'd have to repay that boy - James - somehow. Exhaling slowly, he felt the shadows around him shift and stretch, slowly engulfing him. These shadows were his own, and this time he knew exactly where he was going.

 

 

**Hallow Garden**

Nico's feet hit solid ground with a fwump. 'Solid ground' is a loose term, as it was only as solid as it could be under two feet of snow. Nico promptly found himself wading through the crisp, untouched snow, muttering angrily about his aim.

About twenty feet away stood a strange, intricate, high gate, the motives of numerous animals intertwined with the black wrought iron. The gate stood alone, no fence, no particular reason to stand where it was. Even stranger was the halo of green grass that surrounded the gate, as if the snow hadn't dared to fall upon it. Puffing with effort, Nico dragged his way through the cold and finally stumbled onto the grassy verge. He composed himself, dragging a hand through his unkempt, windswept hair, before lowering his hand onto the gate's icy metal bars. Moments later, it swung open, revealing the same empty, icy barrenness behind it.

Nico, however, was undeterred, and strode purposefully through the gate. The change was immediate. As soon as he had stepped through the gate, Nico found himself in what looked like a garden paradise, drenched in golden sunlight. Gone were the bitter winds, harsh cold and knee-deep snow; now Nico was surrounded by floral trumpets of cerise and violet, and creamy, sweet smelling bells that bobbed in the warm breeze. Some would say it was soothing, but Nico found it cloying. The crisp air of the seaside kingdom he'd just left was far more refreshing than this. As he made his way through the garden, he could hear birdsong and the babble of brooks and fountains gurgling away.

Amongst the sounds was a familiar sweeping noise - a 'Click-click-shooom' - and Nico followed the noise accordingly, finally finding his target. There, sat at a weaver's loom, sat a tall, spindly woman with long, black hair that tumbled down her back in waves. Her nimble fingers worked the shroud before her at the speed of light, her skin glowing like the moon. Her clothes were dark and seemed to float around her like a spider's web caught in a gentle breeze. She'd yet to face Nico, her attention fixed on her weaving. The shroud itself was intricately patterned, and so long it pooled at her feet, seeming to melt into the ground beneath her. Nico stood back a little and waited. When she continued working without so much as a glance at him, he cleared his throat. He saw the corner of her lip curl upwards.

"I know you are there, Nico. No need to be so impatient."

"It's rude to ignore people." Nico muttered.

The woman tutted. "I was not ignoring you - I have quite a few knots to untangle at the moment, before they become snares." She continued working without as much as a backward glance.

Nico started to fidget, pressing his lips together with annoyance. Finally, his patience wore too thin. "Why did you dump me in Atensia?"

The woman kept working as she replied "Because I need you to start your new project as soon as possible. If this child doesn't realise his destiny, the whole shroud could unravel." Her hands ran across the loom fervently as Nico gaped at her.

"The whole shroud?!" he exclaimed, eyes wide. "Why would you give me a project with that much riding on it?"

"Because I trust you, Nico." the woman said, finally turning to face him.

Anyone who was not used to her looks might have flinched or gasped, or maybe even screamed. Nico, however, had gazed into the eyes of Fate many times over the last two hundred years, and so met her pure black, orb-like eyes - all eight of them - steadily.

"You trust me?" Nico repeated, disbelieving. "You trust me after what happened last time, in Atensia? After what just happened in Ahjaera?"

Fate snorted. "Yes, well, I admit that was a bit messy-"

"Those tribal guardsmen chased me out of the city with arrows and spears!"

"-but you got the job done." she continued crisply. "Princess Bianché is now asleep and awaiting the reviving kiss of her beloved. And dear Kahalid will be at the gates of Ahjaera in a week."

Nico gave her a dour look. "You knew about Queen Lamia's apple."

"Of course I did. And now, so does Bianché. When she awakens, she will lead the revolution against the Queen and rebuild Ahjaera."

"Meanwhile, I'm a wanted outlaw." Nico seethed.

Fate waved her hand dismissively. "Only on the Solsund continent, you will be perfectly safe in Meridian."

"Except when the Queen of Atensia sees me."

"It was years ago, Nico. Her memory of the whole thing would have faded by now."

"She lost her only son." Nico murmured, staring at the toes of his boots. "I doubt she has forgotten."

Fate clicked her tongue, annoyed. "She should be grateful, it's thanks to you she had that son in the first place. She only lost something she should never have had."

Nico glowered. "My sacrifice meant nothing, then."

"Oh no." she smiled. "It meant a great deal."

Nico flushed furiously. "So what am I supposed to do with the stable-boy, then?" he ground out.

Fate swivelled around where she sat, her long fingers tracing the woven patterns in the shroud that glinted in the sunlight. "He is about to be pulled away from his destiny. His mother-" 

"Step-mother." Nico interjected. Fate gave him a cold look over her shoulder. "Sorry."

"...his family intend to send him away from Meridian, but this cannot be. He must remain in Atensia for all his days, or the loom will fall to dust."

Nico swallowed a lump in his throat. "So what is the plan?"

Fate hummed under her breath. "There is a ball to take place." her smile turned wry. "In honour of the Atensian Princess."

Nico nearly gagged. "Wait. What? Princess?!"

Fate laughed. "Indeed. Curious, isn't it?"

"But the Queen- her son- a-and I didn't-"

"Hush, Nico. Circumstances are what they are. Perhaps the King grew desperate enough to use a surrogate?" she cackled suddenly. "If you can use the term so loosely! The princess and the stable-boy could have much in common, it seems!"

Nico stayed silent. He'd seen the Queen of Atensia weep, her son's cold, pale body limp in her arms. To Nico, it was no laughing matter. Once Fate had calmed, she turned back to face Nico, her inky eyes boring into his. "The boy will attend the ball. He'll win the princess' heart, and be irreversibly tied to Atensia through marriage to the Kingdom's sole heir. Happy ever after." her smile turned vicious. "Don't fail me, Nico."

Nico bit his lip. "I still don't understand why you are entrusting this to me." Fate gave him a sympathetic look.

"Because after all these years, you retain your pure need to help people, Nico. I could name a few other that have been corrupted by their bitterness, but you..." her lips, thin as they were, broadened even further to a strained grin. "You are faithful. And-" she rose from her seat, the dark dress flowing in the air currents. "I'll even give you an incentive."

Nico's ears pricked. "Incentive?"

She nodded. "Do this for me - I don't care how - and I will return to you that which you gave up for that stupid Queen's lost cause."

Nico stared at her. "You mean...?"

"Yes. Complete this mission, and I will return your memories of your mother."

 

 


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER II

**Atensia – Meridian**

_The House of Varen_

 James watched the stable door slowly close, and then let out a sigh - partially out of relief, partially because of that stony cold feeling of loneliness settling in his stomach. The dark haired boy was gone. Shaking the feeling off, James quickly set about sorting Iridae's tack. He pulled the leather saddle from where he'd left it on the bollard, and placed it upon the horse's back, setting about pulling the girth tight and adjusting the stirrups just so.

Iridae whinnied, causing James to look up as the stable door swung open again. With an impervious air, Tyrone Varen - first son of the late Lord Varen and heir apparent - stepped into the stable and wrinkled his nose. "And here I thought we were paying you to keep this place clean." he said, toeing a pile of hay that scattered over the floor.

James snorted. "Pay?"

Tyrone glowered at him. "Ask any man, James. Food and board do not come for free. Perhaps we should throw you out like mother suggests? You obviously have no idea what the real world is like."

James didn't reply, instead picking up Iridae's bridle and slipping the metallic mouthpiece past the dark horse's lips. What he wouldn't give to leave, to see the 'real world'; he'd grown up with the judgemental stares of the Atensians, the kingdom feeling like more of a prison than a home. But his last promise to his father kept him rooted in Atensia, and if there was one thing James was, it was true to his word. That, and his step-mother couldn't throw him out, despite her best efforts.

The Atensian courts had held them to Lord Varen's will; that they could live comfortably on his estate, as long as James did too. Of course, the courts didn't need to know that technically, James lived on the outskirts of his father's estate in a wooden shack with a horse. It was all details, after all.

After checking all the brightly polished buckles, James turned to his half-brother and folded his arms over his scratchy, woven shirt. "Anything else?" Tyrone glanced at the horse, strapped up in gleaming black leather.

Between him and James, there was very little evidence that would suggest they were brothers; whilst James' dark hair curled at the nape of his neck, Tyrone's flaxen blonde hair hung limply in its bowed ponytail. Whilst James was built like a beanpole, Tyrone was shaped more like a stocky tree-stump with a squashed potato for a nose, which wrinkled as he replied "You took your time, improve on that. Oh, and have a bath, will you?" his face twisted into a sneer. "Mother would like to speak with you, and you know how sensitive she is to you reeking up her home."

The way Tyrone said 'her home' would make you think it had never been anything to James - not the place where he walked his first steps, nor laugh his first laugh, nor the place where he spoke his first word. And to his family, he was little more than black mildew growing on the walls - too crusted and stubborn to be scraped away. James let his eyes drift to the floor.

"Sure." he muttered. "I'd hate to offend."

He watched as Tyrone hoisted himself up into the saddle, his chest puffed out proudly. James rolled his eyes. "Why exactly are you going out this early, anyway?" he asked, irked.

Tyrone smirked down at him. "Early booking at the tailors. I need a new dress coat for the ball later this month." James muffled his groan with his fist. The ball! How could he forget about that? Half the town had been gossiping about it for weeks; how people from across the lands of Meridian - from the northern forests of Kellesvale to the eastern city of Loore - were coming to Atensia to attend the Princess' Ball. Not many had ever laid eyes on the Princess of Atensia. The palace staff were silent on the matter, to the point where hardly anyone knew her name. However, the elusive princess was finally making her debut at her 'coming-of-age' ball. Everyone who was anyone was likely to attend, and most of them - including Tyrone - were very eligible bachelors. Although not all of them might be as smug as Tyrone. James privately hoped the princess would take one look at Tyrone - strutting about like some peacock, no doubt - and have him thrown from the palace. Preferably from a high window.

He met his brother's gaze evenly, and said "Best you not be late then." If Tyrone was expecting a reaction, he would be sorely disappointed. Tyrone tsked as he kicked Iridae onward, watching James beadily as he rode out. Once he'd left, James sighed and set to work again, yanking his shirt over his head with little ceremony and making his way to the water trough.

He picked up the wooden pail next to it and filled the bucket with water. There was no sense in sullying that which Iridae had to drink. He picked up his precious supply of soap - now reduced to a small slither - and plucked it of stray bits of straw before starting to scrub away with the cold water. All the while, one question spun in his head: _what did Amelia want now?_  

-:-

“You’re leaving.”

James spluttered where he stood, staring at his step-mother in shock. “What?”

Amelia remained seated in her plush, wingback chair, her back ramrod straight and her cat-like eyes narrowed. She sipped her tea through pursed lips, and then replied "You heard me, James Pierce." - James winced. She'd used his surname on purpose - "You are to leave for The Ralleru Shrines within the next week. My sister's nephew has a contact within the High Syndicate of the Dodecturn, and the priests are always in need of new novices."

"But Ralleru is all the way in Libertera - in the mountains, no less! I don't even speak Liberteran!" James protested, glaring. "What has brought this on? If you throw me out, you lose all this!" He gestured to the parlour Amelia now sat in, with its lush, thick carpets and lavish, emerald green trimmings.

Amelia let a wry smile curl over her lips. It was disconcerting - she didn't smile often. "Your brother will soon be presented with a grand opportunity, and hence does not need any... unsavoury factors interfering with his prospects." James wrinkled his nose. He knew exactly where she was coming from: Tyrone would have much better chance at the princess with an estranged priest for a brother than a bastard stable-boy. However, Amelia had very wild delusions about her son if she thought it was James that would be Tyrone's downfall.

He pinched the crease of his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. "So to save face, you're sending me to a foreign country to dress in monk robes and learn the Dodecturn rites... just so Tyrone can ride off into the sunset?!"

Amelia huffed, setting down her bone china teacup with a 'clink'. "Really, you should be more grateful! It's the best offer you've had in years!"

"What, to have no chance at love or a family or-"

"It'll be a direction in life!" She said shrilly over the top of him. "Or are you going to tell me you like being a stable boy?!"

"Of course not!" James snapped. "But I want to have some control over my life!"

"You think you are the only one?" hissed Amelia. "You think I wanted to marry your lying cheat of a father? I was faithful! I kept my vows! And look at the repayment I get!" she cried, waving a hand in James' direction.

James stood stony faced. He was used to this tirade by now. She pointed at him, her cruel eyes cold as ice. "You will take what is handed to you in life and appreciate it, like all the rest of us. Fate rewards those who deserve it; our lives rest in the hands of Fate." As she said this, her hand ran over the chain that hung from her neck, the golden symbol of an hourglass resting on her chest.

James' throat tightened with fury. She was sending him away to learn the ways of the Old Gods whilst preaching the words of the new? Her hypocrisy knew no end.

Amelia stood, smoothing the long skirt of her high collared, maroon dress. "You will be going to Ralleru as soon as the summons arrive - which would be within the next fortnight, I wager. Set your affairs in order, boy, for you'll never darken these doors again."

It wasn't a promise, as such. More of a threat as to what might happen should that promise be broken. James met her eyes silently, shaking with his own indignation. Finally, she turned away with her cat-like poise, staring out of the bay-side window. "Leave."

James' clenched fist shook with rage, but any argument now would only fall on deaf ears. Without a word, James spun on his heel and stalked out of the parlour - walking out of his childhood home for what he now knew to be the final time.

 -:-

James was still fuming as he plodded down the heathery hills, along a well-trodden dirt path that led to the town market. It was always busy at the market, and frankly James could do with the distraction. It was an explosion of colours and sounds and smells; there was always a hint of salt on the oncoming sea-breeze, but as you approached the market the smell became tenfold as you came across the fisherman's stall.

Fresh sea bass, fillet of cod and haddock wrapped in oak paper waited in neat rows for the customer's perusal, the store itself banished to the outskirts for the smell, though James didn't mind it. It brought back memories of his father showing him around the Atensian docks. He blinked the memory away and continued to trudge onward. Further into the market square, squashed into the alleys of Atensia's central hub, the air grew thick with the sound of vendors calling and bustling crowds. Meat and wine was sold at one stall, the smell of slow-roasted lamb wafting through the air, another stall was boasting a wide range of fabrics in an array of colours.

"Straight from the cities of Divhali, lords and ladies!" the stall owner cried. "And finest silks from the shores of oriental Liantua! Best price for miles!" James passed the vendor, smiling politely as the woman waved red silks in his face.

The next stall was decadent in flowers, their perfume rich in the air and their bright blooms catching the eye like Liantuan fireworks. The vendor - a shy girl with a sunflower in her hair - waved at James as he passed. He waved back, and had to hide a grin when she turned the same colour as her fuchsias.

Finally, after weaving around various shoppers and stalls - and avoiding the tailors like the plague (he could still see Iridae tethered outside) - he found himself stood outside a soot-covered, stone workshop with great black smoke billowing from its large chimney. Leaning against the grimy walls was an even grimier boy, his face streaked with soot and sweat and smudged with polish.

He stood idly, chatting to a girl that was fussing with the straps on horse and cart. She wore a red cloak that was flecked with coal dust - unsurprising really. It looked like she was the coal courier from Kellesmere. Which was odd - normally it was old man Jonah Springs doing the monthly deliveries.

With a frown, James started forward to join them, their conversation reaching his ears as he drew nearer. "...worse by the day. By the time Virgira's moon comes, all the trade routes will be closed. It's bad for business."

The boy - Simon Felder; son of the Atensian blacksmith and James' childhood friend - nodded. "Like Kellesmere needs the hassle anyway, what with their problem with pest control."

The girl gave a hollow laugh. "Pest control? I'd like to see you handle these 'pests'! It's not like we can crush them like ants!"

"Well, a giant probably could-" SMACK. "OW, woman! The back of my head hurts as much as the front now!"

James grinned as he joined them. "Careful, you'll beat out the little brains Simon has, here." He turned to Simon, and frowned. It wasn't just soot making Simon's face black. "What happened to your face?"

Simon sniffed, before mumbling "Tripped over Dad's hammer."

"And landed face first." The girl added, crossing her arms. "It's a shame you missed it."

The girl was stocky and lithe, and the only particularly girly about her was the red cloak that swayed around her ankles as she moved. At her hip was an impressive looking silver pistol with intricate leaf patterns carved into the handle. She wore tight breeches and a worn blouse, cinched in by a leather corset that matched the long, brown leather boots on her feet. Her left boot bulged slightly - was that a dagger? James averted his eyes quickly. He did not want to get caught staring at a girl's legs. Particularly not this girl.

He cleared his throat. "So, what's going on in Kellesmere?"

The girl's face suddenly went sour. "Politics gone wild." she grumbled. From the look on her face, it was a really sore subject.

"Er, I'm sorry to hear that." James replied, giving Simon a questioning look. Simon just shook his head. "What's your name, anyway? Where's Jonah? He's usually the guy with the coal cart."

The girl sighed. "Jonah got hurt on his last round. Animal attack. I'm his daughter - name's Alyssia Springs." she stuck out her hand. James took it, and was surprised by her firm handshake. He didn't know why though; nothing about this girl said she was the type to do things by half.

“James Pierce.” James replied. Alyssia blinked, as if he’d just struck her between the eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing. I’ve just heard that name before, is all.” Well, that was all James needed. Were people talking about him? Did they know? James did his best to keep his parentage secret - he'd only ever been 'Lord Varen's ward'. But there were always the whisperers. Like it wasn’t bad enough in Atensia, now this strange girl had heard of him in Kellesmere? Great.

Simon, however, had taken a very different line of thought.

“Wait. Are you a Seer?” he gasped, eyes widening as he pointed at Alyssia. At this stage Alyssia looked somewhere between very annoyed and mortally offended.

“Of course not.” She snapped at him. “You know in Kellesmere we all follow the Dodecturn. Seers are the servants of Fate.”

Simon looked confused. “I thought her servants were the Hands of Fate?”

Alyssia tutted, annoyed. “The Hands are just a fable. Like anyone could cheat death, Helsbare forbid.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “No imagination.”

Alyssia huffed and turned back to her leather tack. “Tell your Father I want payment by Helosflight.” She gave them a derisive look. "That's Summer Solstice to you Fatalists."

"Hey! I'll have you know my Dad is a stoic follower of Valcur!" Simon protested, but Alyssia was past listening now. She tightened the reins, and with a cat-like grace, she swung herself up into the driver’s seat of the cart and looked down at the two boys. “If that is all, I have deliveries to make.”

Stunned, James and Simon could only watch as she clicked her tongue, coaxing the mare to a quick trot. Within moments, she was gone. James whistled lowly. “I think you offended her.”

Simon snorted. “It takes more than that to offend Alyssia.”

“Is she always like that?”

“Not always that bad.” Simon replied, frowning. “Kellesmere is having a bit of trouble at the moment, that’s all.”

James waited for elaboration, but when it was obvious that it wasn't coming, James sighed and started towards the workshop. Inside the smithy, it was blistering hot, dimly lit, and everything was covered in a thick coat of oil and soot. Tools lay scattered about - dangling off the side of tables on littering the dusty floor. No wonder someone as clumsy as Simon was constantly bruised in a place like this. Across the room was a roaring furnace, with an anvil and hammer sat to the side. Above the fire, the motive of two ox horns had been carved into the stone wall. James nodded towards it. "You weren't kidding about Valcur, were you?"

Simon sighed. "Nope. Dad says if you've got a patron God, it's best to stay on his good side. Even if he has gone on holiday."

"Do you follow Valcur, then?"

Simon shrugged. "Not really. Dad wants me to follow in his footsteps, but I feel closer to Helos, if I'm honest."

James raised an eyebrow. "The sky god? What could Helos want with you?"

"Thanks for that." Simon pouted, leaning on his Dad's anvil. His elbow promptly knocked off the hammer resting on top of it, and it landed - typically - on Simon's foot. "Gah! Sweet mother Brighida - You see?! I was never cut out to be a blacksmith! It's dark and smelly, and you're lucky if you see the sky from one day to the next. Plus you get burned way too many times!"

"So what do you want to do?" James asked, picking up the hammer. Simon shrugged again. "I'd be a huge disappointment to Dad, but sometimes I wish I could just go to Loore, you know? Learn how to be a clocksmith."

James whistled. "You want to be a hair-brained inventor, huh?"

Simon gave a sheepish grin. "I don't know. Maybe?"

James shook his head, smiling. "I wish you every blessing of Fate with that."

"Thanks. Now-" Simon said, rolling up his sleeves. "I know for a fact that you only had Iridae shod last week, so care to tell me why you are here?"

James took a deep breath. "Amelia told me something that is probably going to change everything."

Simon's face fell. "Change everything? What do you mean?"

"Well, she told me that-" At that moment, a loud crash resounded from outside, accompanied by numerous yells of shocked customers. The two boys exchanged a look before dashing outside. The people of Atensia seemed to be crowding around the fruit and vegetable stall, which everyone knew to be ran by a foul tempered man named Feris O’Seryte. Soon they could hear Feris’ angry bellows, and – to James’ surprise – another familiar voice shouting right back.

As they pushed their way closer, James had to stop his mouth from hanging open. There was a young girl curled into a ball on the cobbled street floor, weeping. James had seen her before, begging off one street corner or another. He’d never seen her with a mother or father though. Above her towered Feris, a mountain of a man whose appearance was made even more terrifying by the knife he wielded in his hand. It was a scene some had seen before – Feris hated thieves, and would usually slice a finger off the unsuspecting pickpocket in recompense. Only now, stood between Feris and the weeping girl was a stranger. The stranger. The one James had bid farewell to not hours ago.

Next to Feris, the boy was tiny. James wondered at the boy’s steely nerve, impressed as the stranger stretched his arms wide, shielding the girl as he faced Feris with a look of fury. “Stand aside!” Feris roared. “She has stolen from me for the last time!”

“No!” The stranger yelled back. “Why would you hurt someone that needs your help? Can’t you see her?!”

“Course I can! Little gremlin has been clogging the streets for months, stealing the wares of good, honest labourers – I’ve had enough, I tell you!”

"Don't you think she has had enough?" The boy replied, taking a deliberate step forward. "You'd look at this girl, with the life she is stuck in, and instead of helping her you make it worse by insulting and threatening her?"

Feris snarled. "Our lives lie in the hands of Fate; She has what she deserves - if she deserved any better, Fate would be kinder!" At Feris' words, the market square seemed to go darker, colder, like a thunder cloud had just smothered the sun. The air was electric; positively humming with energy that seemed to be coming from that young stranger. His eyes - which James had already noted last night as unusual - looked bright with anger, like they were flashing.

"Let me tell you, Feris O'Seryte, that Fate doesn't have favourites. It's the Hands of Fate, like you say, that you should worry about. They have a tendency to be opinionated."

Feris snorted, the knife still clutched in his fist. "The Hands are fairy tales. That wretch, however, has taken from me for the last time!"

Without warning, Feris lunged forward with the knife raised. The girl screamed, scrabbling across the cobbled floor in an attempt to escape. The knife never touched her though. It had been intercepted. Feris blinked in shock, staring at the boy who had stepped forward and grabbed the knife by the blade, stopping it mid-swing. James watched as blood trickled down the boy's wrist, but he didn't seem bothered by it. Instead, he leant forward and whispered something in Feris' ear - James couldn't hear, he was too far away - and suddenly Feris' eyes were wide, his face pale and the hand that held the knife's hilt was shaking.

Hastily, he dropped the knife's handle and backed away. "I meant nothing by it." he mumbled, eyes still bulging wide.

The boy snarled. "It'd be too late if the knife had got to her, wouldn't it?" his gripped tightened on the blade. "You only feel remorse for your own damned fate! Well, remember your own words well, O'Seryte. Fate only gives what is deserved."

To everyone's shock, Feris began to weep. The giant-like man fell to his knees next to his cart, and the woman from the silks stall hurried over, murmuring soothingly. The stunned crowd began to mutter amongst themselves, an eerie buzz that was slowly getting louder. The boy discarded the knife - almost as if it were had burnt him - an offered his uninjured hand to the girl, saying "It's okay, stand up. There is nothing to fear." The girl took his hand and got to her feet shakily. "Thank you." she whispered, then like a flash she darted off into the crowds, her face burning red.

The boy watched her go, shaking his head sadly. Finally, he looked down at his hand, which was now sporting an impressively deep cut across his palm. He actually had the gall to look surprised. "Ah, damn it." he muttered, yanking at his cloak as if to rip a make-shift bandage from it.

The people of Atensia just stared at him and the whimpering Feris, their whispers still making the air hum. James felt frozen, stuck between staying hidden and faceless within the crowd or stepping out to help. He spent most of his time trying not to stand out, especially in a place where he was already one of the Kingdom's biggest gossip stories. But another part of him was angry. Another part of him was asking 'Why in all Meridian do I care?'

James forced himself out of the crowds, pushing past the mutterers and into the empty space that encircled the strange boy. The boy's head snapped up as James approached him, wary. There was a flicker of recognition in the boy's eyes, and suddenly everything became that much simpler.

"Come on." James said, walking up to the boy and plucking his uninjured hand from where it was tugging fruitlessly at his cloak. "I know where we can get you cleaned up." He didn't give the boy a chance to argue - instead James pulled him through the gawking crowds, past Simon, and back into the smithy.

A man now stood crouched above the fireplace, his dark, hunched figure silhouetted by the orange firelight. The man looked up as James came in, the stranger stumbling in behind him. The man's toothy grin flashed in the sooty room. "Hullo, James." he said, his voice gruff, but strangely quiet. "Have you seen Simon?"

"Hello Chaud." James gave a friendly wave. "Simon was outside, I think he's behind us."

Chaud chuckled and shook his head. "Boy get's too distracted too easy, like his Ma. What was the racket over, anyway?"

"Me." came a sullen voice behind James.

James turned around to look at the young man behind him, and started a little when he saw the dark rings beneath the boy's eyes. It was almost as if his three-day catnap had never happened. "Why are you here?" the boy snapped. "And where exactly is here?" James tilted his head, confused.

"How come you never seem to know where you are?" The boy opened his mouth - most likely to come back with some witty remark - when Simon dashed into the workshop, face flustered.

"What the heck was that?!" he gasped. "Do you know this guy?" he jerked a thumb at the young man, whose face had gone from perturbed to just plain annoyed.

James looked between the two nervously. "Sort of." he replied. "I found him out cold in Iridae's paddock a few days ago. He just left this morning."

Simon stared, before snorting derisively. "You and your strays. Do you even know his name?"

" _He_ is right here." The boy growled. He glared at both James and Simon in turn. "And _he_ doesn't appreciate being referred to like some stray dog!"

Simon gave the boy a look that said he was not impressed. "So what is your name?"

"Nico." the boy - Nico - replied, if a little tersely. James gave a small, internal sigh of relief; at least he now had a name for a face. Simon was not finished though. "Got a surname, Nico?" he pressed.

"Just Nico." came the reply, still sounding pretty terse, if not a bit defensive.

Simon gave Nico a hard look, before shrugging. "Sure, if you say so."

Chaud sighed from across the room. "I don't give a Rikutan fig what his name is - he's bleeding all over my workshop floor."

"Oh, right." James sprang into action, grabbing a couple of moderately clean cloths and dipping them in the nearby water trough that Chaud cooled his metalwork in. Gingerly, he started dabbing at Nico's wound. He was expecting some kind of rebuttal, or a snide comment, but strangely the boy stayed silent, watching James work as if reading a book. The whole feeling was unnerving. Simon - being his usual tactless self - broke the silence again, saying "So why are you in Atensia anyway?" Did he have to be so abrupt? James shook his head to himself, his eyes glued to the sliced up hand in front of him.

Nico stiffened. "I'm here on official business. Technically I shouldn't have made a scene like that, but I can't stand cruelty to children." Saying that, James thought, he is barely an adult himself. James snuck a glance up at the boy, who was too busy looking around the workshop to notice. He had the same dark hair, with a reddish tint, like chestnuts. He was small, the top of his head barely reaching James' shoulder. But most curious of all was the strange colour of his eyes. They always seemed luminous, even in that dark stable. And they were bright gold, like a cat's.

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Official business?" he parroted, looking sceptical. Nico pressed his lips to a thin line. With his tired eyes, it made him look pinched. "It's not something I can talk about freely."

"Oh really?" Simon huffed and cross his arms. "You came to the wrong place to be secretive, my friend. Suspicious folk, Atensians. Too many scary sea stories at bedtime."

"You aren't my friend." Nico replied coolly. "And as to place, I can't help that. I just go where I am sent." James looked up just in time to see Nico roll his eyes. James bit his lip, putting down the damp cloth and picking up the second.He lowered his eyes again as he started wrapping it around Nico's hand as a makeshift bandage. "Besides," Nico continued "The Atensians can't really comment on anyone's secrecy; not when their Princess is the best kept secret in Meridian."

Simon glared at him. "It's not something we can help. We know nothing either!"

Nico stared at Simon from over James' head, before finally saying. "There's a pity. And there was me hoping you could be useful."

Simon bristled. James frowned where he knelt, tying the bandage fast before getting to his feet. "Why do you need to know about the Princess?" Was he here for the ball?

Nico shook his head airily. "No reason. Her ball has just caused quite a stir with a few notable people, is all." He _was_ here for the ball. For some reason, James' stomach plummeted like a rock in disappointment. He wasn't sure why; maybe he had a small hope that the stranger - Nico - was nothing like Tyrone.

James clicked his tongue. "Well, if you're here for the ball, you are a bit early. It's not for two weeks yet."

Nico snorted. "You're getting the wrong end of the stick, Pierce. I'm not here for some royal cattle auction."

James' eyes narrowed. Nico let out a deep sigh, looking disgruntled. "If you really must know, I'm here for the Princess' best interests."

"Oh really." Simon remarked. "How so?"

"Because" Nico replied "If the Princess marries the wrong noble, it will cause political unrest in Meridian. My... contractor found out that someone wasn't willing to take that risk." Nico bit his lip, eyes jumping from Simon and meeting James' steadily. "Meaning if I don't stop it, this ball will end in catastrophe. Someone is going to kill the Princess."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now folks! Write a review, tell me what you think.  
> As I've said - I'm using this as a means to find out how popular this book would be, and whether there is a market for it.   
> If I can prove the popularity of this, my employers (A British University) have offered to help fund the publication. So please leave as much feedback as you can!


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